


Off Routine

by Bad_Medic (Chameowmile)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, i'll think of some witty tags to add here in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chameowmile/pseuds/Bad_Medic
Summary: Medic just wants what's best for the team-- unfortunately that might require some changes on his part.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a request!fic for InfamouslyDorky that I could /not/ resist doing something with, and it's gonna be a real trip

Normal is relative. That being said, Medic has never considered himself normal-- nor has he ever desired to be.

 

Normal is limiting-- and if there’s anything he’s not fond of, it’s limits that _he_ didn’t set.

 

He enjoys his position far more than he'd ever admit, and while _sometimes_ he might go a little bit overboard with his experiments, it's always in the quest for  _improvement_ , not malicious harm!

 

Which is why it _does_ sting a bit whenever one of his colleagues accuse him of having _anything_ but their best interests at heart.

 

“Are you _trying_ to kill me?!” Spy hisses, looking a bit spooked as he sits on the exam table, hands keeping Medic at a mild distance.

 

Medic tosses aside the syringe that he was _going_ to be using for the lung fluid sample he wanted, but grabs a stethoscope to listen to the man's breathing instead, “No one ever seems to complain when I bring them back from the dead or make them invincible. But the minute it’s, _oh I don’t really like needles doctor_ , it’s the end of the world!”

 

The man-- apparently moodier than usual thanks to his bronchitis-- just casts him this look of death and snaps, “I’d like to stay alive in the _first_ place, _Monsieur_ , not be brought _back_ to life. And forgive me if I don’t feel like your _treatments_ are the solution to my mortality.”

 

“I could make it so you never get bronchitis again! And you're sitting here complaining about my methods?!”

 

"Yes! Now treat the case I already have, and leave the future out of it, or _I_ will leave _this_ room _right now_ and find a new doctor!"

 

“Now that’s just _rude, Herr Mungo_.” He begrudgingly picks up a file that doesn't actually have anything written on it, and mutters a dull, "For someone so keen on _living_ , you seem overly keen on smoking  while you have a chest infection."

 

“Wait-- is that _my_ file?”

 

That wasn't the intent he was trying to convey... _but_...“Not to mention the _drinking_..."

 

“Give me that! What've you written in there?! It better not have my blood type!”

 

He holds it out of reach and retorts, “I’ll exchange it in return for a sample.”

 

Spy scowls and immediately stops trying to grab it, crossing his arms and snarling, "There's nothing  _in_ that file,  _monsieur_ , and I'm not one to be fooled!"

 

Ah, well...it was fun while it lasted. Maybe a second try? "Aren't you scared your real face might fall into the  _wrong hands_?"

 

“You've never even _seen_ my face, and you can’t buy me with information, _Docteur_! My entire _job_ is information!”

 

Medic scowls, but relents, tearing the fake file in half and dropping it on the floor with dramatic flare. "Fine. The X-Rays will be developed by the morning.”

 

“Why couldn’t you have started with that?”

  


~

The next interaction of the day isn’t much more cooperative. Scout knocked out his canine tooth on a concrete pylon, and unlike Spy he’s not just  _moody_ , he’s _whiny_.

 

And if there’s anything Medic hates more than Moody, it's whiny.

 

“Ah-- c’mon Doc!” He wheedles, voice muffled by the cotton gauze that’s currently being pressed against his gums. “I just wanna take the day off! I’ll watch ye birds or somethin’! Ye' won’t even have to pay me! We'll be a happy family.”

 

Medic snorts,pressing a bit harder to try and stop the bleeding. “Archimedes is in a pecky mood right now. I wouldn't advise it."

 

Unfortunately, despite the easy conversation, the boy insists on being a big baby about even the smallest bit of pain, so when Medic does apply pressure, he jerks away in a panic, causing the injury to immediately start bleeding again. And then he gets all panicky when he sees the blood.

 

And if there’s anything Medic hates more than whiny, it’s _panicky._

 

“That _hurt,_ man!” He simpers, dabbing his fingers against the sticky red now dripping down his chin. “Aw hell! My doc back home _never_ did stuff like this!"

 

And normally Scout’s little outbursts wouldn’t particularly bother him, but this is the _second_ time today someone has compared him to a different doctor, so now it's just a little bit personal, causing him to cross his arms and snap back,  “So why not have _him_ fix it instead then, _Junge_?"

 

To which the boy gets all misty eyed and replies, “I haven’t been home in _six months_!”

 

Which just makes him feel bad for bringing it up.

  
Ach, now he has to fix  _this_ too!

 

~

Sometime later, as Medic is holding Archimedes and investigating a nest in one of the cottonball containers, Heavy enters the room.

 

His first reaction is to come up with an excuse for why he made Scout cry-- but it quickly becomes apparent that the man is not in fact here to lecture him, and is instead injured, judging by the bloody dish cloth that seems to be wrapped around his hand.

 

“ _Mein Gott_ , what on Earth did you do?!”

 

Heavy looks at him, then over at Archimedes with a confused frown, and then down at his own bleeding hand,“Ah, caught wrong end of knife when cooking."

 

“ _Mischa_!”

 

“It will be alright. Just came to tell doktor dinner is ready."

 

Is he _really_ not going to ask for help?! He's in the medbay! 

 

“Oh no you don’t!" He exclaims, letting go of Archimedes so that the bird flies away, and reaching out to take his friend's hand. "Give it here! My job is to heal you!"

 

Heavy, however, does not oblige, and pulls it out of reach, replying, “ _Nyet._ Doktor’s hands are dirty.”

 

“ _Was_?! No they’re not!”

 

“Have been holding bird! I saw it.”

 

“I’m sure my _birds_ are far cleaner than that _towel_!” He argues, not enjoying the criticism.

 

“Doktors need to always wash hands!"

 

"Well, I'm not a doctor, I'm a medic!"

 

And it's safe to say that argument wins him no awards.

  


~

Naturally, it’s when he’s halfway done stitching the cut on his friend’s hand that the man inevitably asks, “Why not keep workplace _clean_? Birds do not belong here. Animals can stay in bedroom-- or cage. Not jars of cotton."

 

Medic makes a scandalized sound at the very thought of it. “I am not putting my birds in a _cage_ , Mischa! As for cleaning, I am a _field_  medic! And time is not best spent _cleaning_ when someone is bleeding out in front of you!"

 

“Excuses like little kids give. Clean in morning.”

 

_Ugh._

 

He cuts the suturing thread and shoves all the supplies back into the bag they came from. _Maybe_ a little petulantly, pulling out a roll of gauze instead. “Thank you for the _input_.”

 

“Is doktor mad?"

 

“ _Nein_.  _You’re_ mad for thinking _I’m_ mad.”

 

“Ah-- I get your joke!" He laughs, and despite himself, Medic laughs too, feeling a bit better about the criticism now as he murmurs, “I’ll be down to dinner soon.”

 

“I will save you food!"

  
  


~

As per his friend's request, he cleans.

 

In doing so though, he comes across a weird, framed copy of the Hippocratic oath that's been left abandoned in the corner of the room for quite some time. It used to be on the wall, but he took it down when he first got his contract, so it's just been lying forgotten in a corner ever since.

 

The glass is cracked from where it’s been stepped on, and the words are difficult to read under the dust and feathers, but he can wash it like anything else.

 

He turns his attention to the peg it _used_ to be hanging on-- now occupied by a painting of a few carrier pigeons-- and stalks over to pull that off of the wall, instead replacing it with the oath.

 

If everyone wants a  _doctor_ instead of a  _medic_ , then why not give it a try?

 


	2. Chapter 2

Engineer gets this  _overwhelming_ sense that Medic’s being crazy tonight, because no one sees the man at dinner, and half the team looks like they’ve been struck by the _experimentation_ stick.

 

Scout’s just moping at the table with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his face, Spy hasn’t said a word all night and sounds all wheezy and irritable, Heavy seems _alright_ even with the bandaged hand, but a bit upset that his friend never came down, and Sniper just looks completely _miserable_.

 

Unfortunately, if Medic _is_ being a nut, then Engineer can’t, in good conscience, send him down for a checkup, now can he?

 

His leg took a pretty bad hit today from the enemy Scout’s cleats, and while some emergency stitches _were_ utilized, it’s pretty unlikely he’s _not_ going to get an infection from it if the real doc doesn't come and take a look soon.

 

Sniper’s been sitting at the card table with Soldier and Demo all night, clearly playing a game, but not seeming overly invested in it as he dazedly rests his head on his hand and takes a drink from his beer every now and then.

 

Normally this wouldn’t be that concerning-- Snipes is a pretty low energy guy-- but he does look pretty pale, and should, at the very least, be resting in bed, not playing cards with two of the team's biggest horseplayers.

 

“Hey, slick, come here and help me out with something?”

 

The other man lets out a small sigh, but does slide out of his seat, seeming as if he genuinely plans to help, but isn't too excited about it. He moves stiffly, and eventually reaches Engie-- only to apparently realize he’s been tricked, and that there isn’t anything that his help is required for. His expression gets all irritable. It can't really be called  _stormy_ , because Sniper's the definition of 'cool with pretty much anything', as Scout puts it.

 

Apparently though he's not cool with being worried over. “Hardhat, ’m _fine_.”

 

Engineer snorts. “I’d argue you need to go to bed, even if you’re not plannin’ to see the Doc tonight.”

 

“Ugh." The taller man looks back at  the table, probably wanting to go rejoin soldier and demo, but seems to realize that the two have already transformed their game of Blackjack into a game of questionably moderated War, and probably won't benefit from his return anymore. “Yeh-- okay... that’s reasonable.”

 

He's pretty pouty when he leaves, but the guy having his feelings slightly hurt is strongly preferred over him wearing himself too thin and actually getting sick. Engineer watches him go, calling an easy goodnight in his direction, and when he’s sure the man is actually leaving for real and not just faking him out, he in turn heads in the opposite direction, making his way down the hall toward the medbay, where he finds the light on inside, and presumably, the Medic.

 

As he predicted, the guy is _definitely_ in a weird mood tonight. The man seems to have cleaned every inch of the exam room, rendering it free of birds, experiments, blood, and feathers, as he sits on the floor a few feet away, organizing a cabinet of files and humming some song. Can’t say that’s typical.

 

“Spring cleaning, Doc?”

 

The man peeks up over the cabinet door, and for the most part looks fine, but the knit in his brow suggests he probably doesn’t want his behaviour being questioned right now.

 

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Conagher?”

 

“Hey now…” He doesn’t like _this_ one bit. “What’s with the American accent?”

 

Medic frowns, but doesn’t even remotely attempt to answer the question, again confirming the idea that he doesn’t really want to be analyzed, “I’m very busy at the moment.” he says, turning back to the filing cabinet. “So if there isn’t anything I can help you with I’m afraid it’s against protocol for you to be in the _exam_ room. I just cleaned it.”

 

Engineer decides to play along with it, since it’s not like the guy really seems to be hurting anyone. “Alright, well I guess I can respect that. I was just stopping by to check up on you-- since you didn’t come to dinner 'n all. Have you eaten anything today?”

 

Medic just seems confused by the question though, and shakes his head, “I’ll cook myself dinner once I’m done in here. ”

 

“There are leftovers for you in the freezer if you want those instead.”

 

"Uh..."

 

“I’ll get out of your hair now! Good luck with the cleaning.” And Engie takes this as his opportunity to leave before Medic scolds him again.

  


~

5am is when Spy forces himself to get out of bed, because despite his bronchitis and overall disinterest in doing literally anything, he has an X-Ray to pick up, and thinks he might be able to slip in and out without having to deal with Medic at all-- or at least, deal with him minimally-- if he gets there before he's had his coffee.

 

The German wakes up early but he’s certainly no morning lark.

 

Walking down the hallway, only vaguely conscious of the fact that he’s _freezing_ , Spy  sees that the exam room is, in fact, lit. Something both disappointing, and entirely expected.

 

Slipping into the room with a wary unimpressed look on his face, he’s a bit concerned to see how clean it all is, knowing that the last time the place looked like this was when the inspector came around and started threatening contracts.

 

“ _Docteur_?!” He calls out-- but his voice is barely audible, bled dry from coughing all night.

 

There’s no response whatsoever, which seems to indicate the man has left to shower, or perhaps make coffee, but also probably means he’ll be back soon, since Spy didn’t pass him in the hall.

 

Maybe he left the X-ray out...

 

“Oh! Goodmorning, Spy!” Interrupts a strange American voice from the doorway, of course thwarting his intended mission. “I made you tea!”

 

Tea?!

 

Whoever it is is far too chipper, and _far_ too loud, so when Spy turns to see _Medic_ , he’s immediately convinced the man is _trying_ to annoy him.

 

Unfortunately his effort to snarl in return is thwarted by him bursting into a coughing fit instead, and thus nearly dying as Medic shoves a mug into his hand and prances off in the other direction.

 

He nearly _drops_ the tea, but manages to save it, only spilling a bit on his shirt-- which in his bleary haze proves to be the raggedy RedSox sweater he went to sleep in, and suddenly makes him realize that he never actually got dressed.

 

Does he even have his mask on?

 

He touches his cheek with a tea soaked hand.

 

Nope. He’ll have to fix that before everyone else starts waking up.

 

He takes a sip of his tea, and glares suspiciously in the direction that Medic just went, suddenly aware that the man might actually be a Spy, because the real Medic would have surely reacted to seeing his face, instead of just going along with it. Whereas a Spy would just assume Medic already  _knew_ what his face looked like because of how casually he came in here without the mask.

 

Not to mention this tea isn't even sweetened! Blasphemous!

 

The guy comes bustling back in with a developed X Ray in hand and shoves it onto the lightboard like he actually intends to discuss the results with him.

 

And then he does.

 

Because this Spy is an idiot.

 

“So this definitely confirms it’s a bacterial infection, and not anything _more_ serious.” He points to some obscure section of the chart and Spy doesn’t even try to comprehend it. “ _However_ . Your bronchitis has probably worsened since we took this X-Ray, so, given your continued smoking, and inability to _relax_ for more than five minutes, I’m going to be prescribing you some medications and a few days sick leave. Expect an inhaler and some antibio--”

 

“Sick leave?”

 

He blinks a moment at being interrupted, than shakes his head. "What? Yes. Of course."

 

"You never give _anyone_ sick leave.”

 

He scoffs and turns back to the chart, pointing at it again. “Well, if the inflammation gets worse, you could suffocate. So I suppose this is a reasonably life or death situation to warrant the paperwork.”

 

Psh. As if. Medic’s sent them out with _way_ worse.

 

But Spy _will_ accept this opportunity, because it means he’ll be able to get to the bottom of this while everyone _else_ is out in the field.

 

A knock on the med bay door makes him lose his train of thought as Heavy’s voice reverberates throughout the space and says, “Room looks very nice, Doktor! I brought you coffee.”

 

Fake Medic goes to greet him. “Aw, thank you Mischa, I appreciate it. But I'm going easy on the caffeine today.”

 

Hah! Medic going light on caffeine? As if. Heavy however doesn't seem to catch on to obvious Spy in the room and instead just returns with a pleasant, “Is alright, I can drink it. American accent is very good, though. Are you practicing?”

 

~

Girls like guys with missing teeth. Right?

 

Scout frowns at his reflection in a spoon he picked up off the table, and then forces a smile.

 

It could be worse, he guesses. Better a canine than a front tooth.

 

At least, he thinks that’s a thing.

 

Engineer is cooking breakfast right now, like he always does, and there's no one else here yet, as usual, so he’s just been sitting around waiting to get first dibs on everything. Also there are biscuits, and if you aren’t an early bird, you don’t get any.

 

He’s always the first person here, second to Engie, so it’s usually a game of guessing who's gonna show up next.

 

Today it’s Spy, entering the room at 7:16. A little later than his usual, but judging by how he's dressed, probably not his fault. A plain MannCo t-shirt, and pajama bottoms, with a sweatshirt tied off around his waist. It’s kind of normal if you ignore the mask.

 

Scout doesn’t like it one bit. It's like a bad _omen_ or something. Spy's usually dressed and ready to go by now.

 

In turn, the man doesn’t even make a comment to  _explain_ why he's dressed that way, and leans across the table to steal a biscuit instead.

 

Scout slaps his hand to see how he’ll react.

 

Normal Spy would yell at him.

 

 _Trashy Pajama Spy_ however just slaps him back. Except on the face. Which hurts.

 

"Ow!"

 

 _Okay_. Noted.

 

Flinching away, he sits back in his seat and tries to pretend like he didn’t just get his soul wounded by this idiot.

 

Engineer comes over and sets two plates of food down. “Stop pestering each other and eat your food.” He tousles Scout's hair and walks back to the stove.

 

He does as he's told, and takes a chocolate chip pancake to eat.

 

However, if he thought Spy was acting weird, _nothing_ could’ve prepared him for Medic, who walks into the room next and goes rummaging about in the cabinets for a coffee mug like he doesn’t look absolutely _nuts_ right now.

 

He’s wearing like, weird doctor clothes, and even has a _nametag_ , which is weird. Like, what the hell?!

 

He looks _a lot_ like Scout’s pediatrician back home, and the normalness makes him uncomfortable. Spy meanwhile is just glaring at the guy, and honestly the whole mood of the day has kind of been set for the _worse_ and he's already not looking forward to it.

 

He just wants to eat in peace.

 

Instead he nearly chokes to death when Medic says, “Good Morning, Scout!”  Instead of, “ _Guten Morgen, Herr Kaninchen.”_  like he _always_ does.

 

To make things worse, the mug he grabs from the cabinet isn't _his_ , because Heavy took _his_ a little while ago, and is instead--

 

Sniper’s?

 

Wait. Sniper should _be_ here by now. He's always here by 7:30, and it's almost 8:00. Where is he?

 

He ignores Medic for a hot minute and mumbles a worried, "Hey-- guys? Has anyone seen Snipes today?"

 

No one responds. Engineer seems torn between paying attention to Medic, and paying attention to Pyro, while Spy is just glowering at the doctor, and Medic seems baffled by the question overall-- unsure how to respond.

 

In other words, the routine is fucked, everyone's grumpy, and no one is listening to him.

 

~

Engineer thinks it’s way too early to be stopping a crisis, and yet here he is, ninety percent sure something is about go very very wrong. The problem is, it’s grown a bit hard to pinpoint what exactly the catalyst for that is going to be. Because now his attention is split between Spy, who’s watching Medic with this wary look, Pyro who's probably going to cause some sort of cooking disaster in the next five minutes, Medic, who’s just being even _more_ bizarre than he was yesterday, and Scout, who seems perturbed.

 

Naturally, it’s Scout.

 

“For _real_ guys, where the hell is Sniper?!” He jumps up without any warning whatsoever, and knocks over his chair, all panicked and dramatic.

 

He actually is making a good observation though, because Engineer really forgot about checking up on Sniper altogether. Meanwhile Medic seems confused, clearly in the dark about the whole situation with the man, and asks, "Is Scout alright?"

 

"He's fine-- but I think he does have a poi--"

 

Naturally the problem solves itself in the form of Soldier, who comes bursting in with Sniper in hand. "I have captured an AWOL patient, Doc!" He stalks into the room, far too loud for eight in the morning. "He will not escape again!”

 

And Medic says, "I don't think he could if he wanted to! Set him down please, Mr. Doe."

 

So the man does-- but Sniper doesn't seem to be too steady on his feet right now, and he falls immediately, slamming to the tiles with an angry swear or six and seeming dazed. His eyes are glinty and fever dark but at least that means he actually _is_ in need of some sort of medical attention and not just the victim of a weird reveille kidnapping.

 

Naturally, Medic trots over to assist.

  


~

Being forcefully carried into the main base by Soldier wasn’t really how he wanted to start his morning, but the guy apparently has some sixth sense for comrades who are ‘dying’, so when Sniper decided to try and sleep off his fever this morning, it triggered alarm bells in the other man’s head and consequently led them all to this very strange situation.

 

The entire kitchen fiasco is a little bit of a blur, but as he lies on the floor, dazed and slowly processing what the fuck is going on, he thinks he’s probably imagining at least half of it.

 

For one, Spy looks fucking horrible, for another, Medic’s being real goddamn creepy, and for a third, Scout keeps saying, “ _I tried_ to tell you!” and getting upset when no one responds to him .

 

Medic’s checking Sniper’s temp at the moment with a thermometer he really didn’t want in his mouth but somehow ended up with anyway, and Engineer seems to be making comments, though he can't really parse any of it.

 

Something cold touches his face and he panics, lashing out at what is apparently just a bag of peas to the floor and accidentally decking Medic squarely across the face in the process, which he really only realizes a few seconds later when the guy's glasses go flying.

 

His hands are just generally numb and useless right now, so his only real processing of the event are the visuals of it all, and Pyro gasping in horror nearby as he forgets the cornbread he was dumping way too much honey on top of-- and then proceeds to dump a little bit _more_ than way too much on top of instead.

 

Also when the hell is the last time they had honey on this base?

 

And then Medic just smiles, accepts his glasses from Scout who’s nervously handed them back over, and it’s like nothing ever happened.

 

Honestly, if it weren’t for the blood visibly dripping down his face, Sniper would think he imagined it.

 

And somewhere in the background, the battle alarm goes off, and Scout stammers, “Man, we’re really late!”

 

Which clears the room of everyone but Sniper and Medic in about two seconds flat.

 

He half expects Medic to snarl at him now that they’re alone-- but the guy just keeps smiling, and somehow that’s way worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can not get over the fact that this has 14 Kudos, I posted it at like 3am with no tags, no description, and yall are up in here spoiling me.
> 
> All of the chapters /are/ written, but the next one still needs edited, and fleshed out, since it's going to be the bulk of the story. I'm hoping to have it done on Saturday, since I have class, and work 9 to 9 the rest of this week!


	3. Chapter 3

 Breakfast aside, Engineer did hope that the day would progress _somewhat_ normally after everyone left for the locker room.

 

This however does not appear to be the case as Medic somewhat _surprisingly_ does turn up for the battle, leaving Sniper and Spy back in the main base, to bring along his medigun and-- well, nothing else.

 

It's pretty evident as soon as he walks in that he didn't bring  _any_ of his usual weapons with him, Heavy notably scolding, “I do not always know when Doktor is in trouble!" and encouraging him to go retrieve them as they wander through.

 

Medic though isn’t really all that perturbed by the demand, instead calmly replying, “I’ll be _fine_ , Mischa.” and pulling the medigun onto his back like that's an acceptable answer.

 

As things stand though, Heavy is not the _easiest_ worrywart to shake, so he follows, crossing his arms in irritation, and says,“I can not protect you all day!"

 

"That's fine, because it's not your responsibility to."

 

"I do not like this."

 

“Well, then don't think about it. I’ll watch your back like I always do-- and we’ll win this match. Yes?”

 

A reluctant pause, and then Heavy sighs. “Da. I will get Sascha."

 

~

Spy isn’t about to let being _sick_ stop him from his espionage. He’s had his nap, he’s drunk his tea, and he’s taken his antibiotics! Which means it’s time to figure out where the _real_  Medic is!

 

Sniper looks over from the nearby sofa, where he seems to have taken refuge amongst a _multitude_ of blankets, including the one Spy thinks _he_ had before he fell asleep himself, and then back at the television, which is playing a Bonanza rerun.

 

All of the doves are fluttering about the room in a weird turn of events, and Sniper is holding Archimedes in his hands, occasionally petting the animal’s chin and cheeks as he stares off into space with this glazed, medicated look in his eyes.

 

Spy grimaces at the little urchins. “Why are the birds in here?”

 

"I asked for ‘em.”

 

“And what? Medic just _handed_ them over to you?!”

 

“Yep, I hang out with 'em all the time.”

 

“Where was he keeping them?!"

 

“In his room."

 

“Oui, but where. In a cage?"

 

Sniper glares, rather than gives a response, and lets go of Archimedes so that he can get up from the couch. "why're ye bein' so nosy about it?"

 

"Because it just seems odd is all."

 

“Where’r’ya goin’, Spook?”

 

“The other base! To see if they have the real Medic!”

 

 

 

~

Naturally, Sniper insists on tagging along because he's insufferable like that.

 

They actually only end up going about as far as their _own_ Medbay though, and that's just fine with him. Sniper is clinging to his IV stand like a giddy thirteen year old who managed to sneak out after dark, but doesn't actually know where he wants to go, and Spy doubts he'd make it four feet out the door if they tried going to the other base.

 

Spy gestures broadly at the room once they step inside. “ _Nous voilà !_  What do you see that’s amiss in this room, Sniper?” 

 

He points clumsily. "Doc put up a new picture.”  

 

And, to Spy’s surprise, this is actually true.

 

The painting Heavy did of the birds is gone-- Carrier pigeons that the two  _both_ swear the saw six or so years ago-- and has instead been replaced by the Hippocratic oath, which just seems odd for a Spy to do. 

 

Then, before he can really consider the implications of this, Soldier bursts into the room _again_ , yelling, “Comrades do _not_ snoop!” and then points like he knew he'd find them here.

 

Spy nearly has a heart attack, and Sniper throws his hands up in defensive posture, “We’re sick-- we can’t be held accountable for our actions.”

 

"Which is why I want to know what you've discovered, sick men! Something is wrong with our doctor and I _will_  get to the bottom of it!”

 

" _Mais,_ he’s clearly a Spy!”

 

“Incorrect.”

 

Spy makes a noise of offense.“What do you _mean_ , incorrect?!”

 

“The enemy Spy is still on the battlefield! A real man would know this.”

 

And Sniper pats him on the shoulder, nearly falling over. “Told ye he wasn't a Spy, Spook."

 

“ _Non tu n’a pas foutu !_ Now shut up you insufferable pri--”

 

And this is of course the moment _not-Medic_ shows up to crash the party as well, only adding insult to injury as Spy realizes he must've slept longer than he thought, and that the battle has probably already ended, " What on _Earth_ is  going on in here? This is against protocol!"

 

Everyone looks up to see him standing in the doorway, looking inoffensively offensive while frowning at all of them like a Dad whose kid just told them they hate him and has had his soul wounded.

 

Scout stands just behind him, looking uncomfortable.

 

Spy gives it four minutes before they're all dead.

 

Naturally, Soldier decides this is the perfect moment to ask, “Doc, are you a Spy?”

 

And the man's eyes burn in obvious anger, as he sharply grits out, “Unfortunately, I can’t say I am. Get out of my office."

 

Soldier runs away, leaving the two of them to clean up their own mess.

 

Or, as it turns out, just _Spy,_ because Sniper’s playing dumb and sitting on the floor with a jar of dirty looking cotton balls and a bird egg, like an idiot, and not even paying attention to what's going on.

 

It’s just distracting enough that Spy doesn’t notice Medic’s approach until he’s already placed a scolding hand on his shoulder, scaring the shit out of him and snapping,“I can tolerate _you_ putting your health at risk, Spy, gallivanting about and smoking with a cough, but I will _not_ tolerate you dragging another patient into it! You’re a bad influence!”

 

"Tell me something I don't know!"

 

And maybe his  _petite fleure_ is right. Jeremy probably  _does_ get the attitude from him.

 

 

~

Scout is _not_ excited when Medic grabs him from the locker room after the match. He can’t say he really had much to eat this morning, and he was kind of hoping to have some cereal or something before dinner, not sit around and deal with this guy being a loony.

 

Following the man to his office proves an even _weirder_ situation too as half the team seems to be snooping around-- leaving Spy looking like a moody teenager, as he drags Sniper back out into the hall with him.

                                                       

In addition, once they’ve all been kicked out, Scout realizes just how uncomfortably quiet this place is without the birds in it. Or even just Heavy reading a book in the corner, like he usually does.

 

The big guy's chair is even gone.

 

“So…” He presses awkwardly. “Are you ‘n Heavy fightin’ about somethin’? Cause it feels like there’s some kind o' drama behind all o’ this.”

 

Medic though, just snorts. “If we weren’t cooperating today, we wouldn’t have served together out in the battlefield. We are fine. Now, go sit on the table for me.”

 

“Why? For my tooth?”

 

“No, we’re still waiting on the replacement.”

 

Ugh-- “Then what the hell--?!”

 

“I’d like to do a blood test.”

 

“What?! No!"

 

“It won’t even hurt.” He soothes, calm and weird, as he rummages about in a drawer beneath the exam table. “I’d like to check your hormone levels.”

 

“The hell for?! That's super weird, Pal! I want to go eat food, not sit around in here gettin' poked with needles!"

 

“A hormone imbalance could account for your poor mood as of late, _herr Kaninchen_.”

 

It takes him a minute to process the German, but the panicked look on Medic's face seems to indicate he hadn't meant to use it, as Scout stubbornly bites back a  _I'm in a bad mood cause you're acting weird_ , and decides to focus on that instead.

 

Because why isn't he wanting to talk in his  _own_ language today? That seems an odd thing to do. Maybe the team's been teasing him too much. One of his brothers used to get all embarrassed and quiet when jokes went too far, and maybe it's the same thing with Medic.

 

He reaches out awkwardly and pats the guy on the arm like he used to with Tommy.

 

“Hey-- Doc, I haven’t been teasin’ ye about yer accent too much, have I? Cause you know I don’t mean it right? My accent's  _super_ weird! Like, I don't even know another language to blame it on, and then you just know like, a whole other way of talking! It's pretty cool!" 

 

The man doesn't seem to be expecting this, but whatever his reaction is is pretty hard to read, because his expression gets all weird and clinical again, as he sets a bundle of phlebotomy equipment out on the exam table and mumbles an uneasy, “Oh, Scout, you seem to have forgotten who's supposed to be taking care of who in this room.”

 

"Aw, c'mon man, we're still doing this bit?"

 

"I assure you, this is in your best interest."

 

"Wait-- you still want my blood?!"

 

"Of course. It's in your best interest."

 

 

~

Demoman can see why _Soldier_ wanted him to be in charge of this little pajama party, but he’d be lying if he said _he_ wantedto be or understood why _Engineer_ gave him a nod of approval too, like leaving him in charge is some kind of a good idea.

 

In any event. “Oi, lads! You listen here!”

 

And surprisingly the hooligans do, sitting in their semi-circle on the rug of the living room, while the television plays aimlessly in the background and continues its staticky self warfare in muted silence.

 

Spy and Sniper look like a train hit them, while Soldier has already switched his attention to something else, and Heavy reads a book on the couch because Spy couldn’t get him to leave when they came in here for this 'meeting'.

 

There are birds everywhere.

 

Demo frowns at the television a moment, mesmerized by the salt and pepper war, and then gets to the point, saying, “I'm gonna be real. Yer all actin’ like a bunch o’ scared little kids, 'n there isn’t even a problem to be scared of!”

 

Spy makes a noise of wheezy indignation at this, and looks to Sniper for backup-- though the guy’s medication dose was basically tripled and Demo’s not even sure he’s fully present at this point, staring at the screen now too. "We are bit being ridiculous!"

 

When Sniper doesn't answer, Spy seems to realize he's completely out of it as well, and begrudgingly turns back to Demo, snapping, “Medic has clearly cracked! He’s probably in there murdering Scout as we speak!”

 

“Ain’t nobody stoppin’ ye from checkin’ in on the lad-- an’ I can’t say that’s any different from a normal day, anyhow. So are ye’ really all losin’ ye marbles ‘cause he doxxed his accent for a day?"

 

“Yes!”

 

Sniper looks over, but not really in his direction, and confirms this with a slow little nod but no actual words.

 

Soldier's hand snaps up into the air. "Question!"

 

And Demo chooses to humor him. “What’cha got, Solly?”

 

“Has anyone asked Doc how he feels?”

 

Nobody actually answers the question, and a collectively awkward  _um_ resonates throughout the space in telling turn.

 

 

~

Scout returns to the land of the living just as dinner is ready, looking a bit pale and tired, but otherwise fine as Pyro snuggles up right next to him with a big bowl of muddy buddies and lets him eat some even though he bought the ingredients all by himself with his very own money and all that.

 

Everyone is staring at Scout too now, but he doesn’t seem to notice it, also focused on the broken television and his discussion with Pyro about whether or not the salt or the pepper is winning.

 

Heavy eventually sits up from where he's lying,  and comments, “Little man is very quiet today.”

 

Scout glances back at him, “Just tired. Have I ever told ye yer accent's pretty cool?”

 

"Nyet. But thank you. Scout has cool accent too." He points off to the side now, and adds, “Engineer has made food. It is in kitchen.”

 

"Aw, thanks, man. I'll get some in a minute."

 

The room falls silent again for a time, until Sniper rubs his eyes and pulls away from staring at the static to ask, “So, what’d Medic do to ye in there?" and Spy tries not to be offended by the fact that he was  _clearly_ being ignored earlier when he spoke to him.

 

Scout shrugs. “Oh, nothin’, just took some blood. Also I think he's actin' weird cause someone hurt his feelings." A glance at Spy. "It was probably Spy. He should apologize.”

 

Everyone looks at Spy now too, and he nearly drops the bowl of kettle chips he’s apprehended and sputters a defensive, “ _Non !_ _Je ne vais pas !_ He’s going to skin me alive!”

 

"Well, shouldn't'a hurt his feelin's then. Ever think about that?"

 

"I did no such thing! Your accusations are baseless!"

 

"Then he ain't gonna have any reason to hurt ye, now is he?"

 

"He just stole your blood! And now you're telling me to go talk to him?! He's liable to steal mine too!"

 

And so, Medic, scrub-clad and mundane, appears in the doorway, murmuring a slightly impatient, “I don't need  _your_ blood Spy." and looks around in apparent annoyance, the birds fluttering to greet him. "Why are you all staring at a broken television?"

 

Ah, at least the moodiness is sort of normal this time of night, even if everything else isn't.

 

Soldier shouts, “Spy has something he would like to ask you!” And Spy actually does drop his bowl this time, kettle chips flying everywhere, as Sniper steals one and mumbles a lazy, "Yer making a mess."

 

Spy hits Soldier on the shoulder. “I do not have a question!  _Putain de connard_ _!_ Don't throw me under the bus!” 

 

Medic stares expectantly though, like he still _wants_ a question-- which is worse than him just going,  _Oh? What do you want to know?_

 

Everyone looks at Spy again, the seconds passing with every tic of his realization that he’s not getting out of this one, and he finally bites, “Fine. We have been worried about you, and are concerned we have done something to perhaps... _upset_ you."

 

There’s this awkward silence as Medic looks them all over, confused, and eventually asks, “You’re _worried_?”

 

"You're acting a bit strange, if you hadn't noticed."

 

"I’d think you all would be relieved to have a proper doctor on staff for once.”

 

“i don’t think MannCo hired you for your proper procedure.”

 

“Ah, well...gut…” Medic doesn't really seem to know what to say to that, but eventually scrubs his hands through his hair, mussing it up a bit more than it previously was. “I was merely behaving for the performance review that was happening today.”

 

Sniper's eyes go big and wide. “There was a performance review?!

 

“Oh, _ja_ , definitely. Very serious.”

 

Off to the side, Sniper looks like he’s about to have a heart attack at this news, while Spy already knows that there was no such review and that the man is just deflecting. In any event, crisis averted without casualties.

 

Heavy finally shifts from the two spots he has commandeered, and politely says, "I have saved seat for you, though television is not working tonight."

 

 

The night progresses about as normally as any can around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up being a little busier than expected these last few days so I couldn't update as fast as I'd originally wanted to  
> Thank you guys for being patient with me, and hopefully this ending wasn't super anticlimactic, lo  
> All of your support has cheered me up a lot these last few days, and I appreciate all of you <3  
> I worked extra hard to get this done tonight so that you wouldn't have to wait a whole other week for it <3


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